When they had first gotten married, he'd seemed so nice. Yeah, he'd rushed her a bit, but he had been loving and kind. Bringing flowers, kissing her cheek before bed every night, dancing with her to songs on the radio. It had been so romantic.
Anne had gone to work and heard something, one day, that changed it all. She had only asked him, politely she'd thought, if it was true that he'd been flirting with other women. She'd thought he would shake his head and laugh, sweeping her up and kissing her again.
"Shut up and make me a sandwich."
It only got worse from there. He smacked her around and claimed to their neighbours that she fell down the stairs. He forced himself on her, leaving her torn and bleeding and alone. He swore at her and cursed her for ever questioning him.
"Shut up and make me a sandwich."
She became reserved and quiet to the point that all of her friends were worried about her. One of her coworkers confronted her husband. A week later, she was forced to quit her job. Her life at home was torture.
"Shut up and make me a sandwich."
She wasn't sure what the final straw was.
"Shut up-"
Well, that wasn't true.
"-and make me-"
She knew exactly what it was.
"-a sandwich."
Anne, one night, stood beside the bedside and considered him. He was still handsome and had the face of a kind man. He had no bruises, no cuts, no scars. He looked like he'd been living a very good life.
Anne went into the kitchen. Her body ached. She hadn't been allowed to leave in weeks. Yet, he came home later and later, smelling of different perfumes every night. She hated it. She hated him.
"Shut up and make me a sandwich."
Anne had, before being forced to quit, been an English teacher. She had always jokingly told her students that some phrases could be read with a different, dark meaning. Once upon a time, she had even used 'make me a sandwich' as an example.
"Make for me" was correct, she'd told them all. "Make me" implied making them into a sandwich.
Anne picked up a knife. Her husband had always been a light sleeper.
"It's so nice that you're back to work, Anne," the principal commented.
"I'm very glad to be back," Anne said, smiling faintly. "I just hope that my husband comes home, soon."
"He left a few days ago, right?"
"He did. I really appreciate you giving me this job. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't. I'm just so pleased to be back, I brought sandwiches for us all!"
"Anne, you've always been the best," one of her friends, Greg, laughed and pulled her into a one-armed hug.
"I'm starved, Annie-Baby," Brandy stated. "Pull 'em out, Anne! You're the best chef in the world, I've missed you."
"You mean you missed her food," Greg teased.
Anne remained silent, opening her box of food. She watched as all of her coworkers and friends ate the roast "beef" sandwiches, telling her delightedly how good they were. She only smiled and sat back. Finally, she'd made her husband a sandwich, just as he'd asked.
Anne had gone to work and heard something, one day, that changed it all. She had only asked him, politely she'd thought, if it was true that he'd been flirting with other women. She'd thought he would shake his head and laugh, sweeping her up and kissing her again.
"Shut up and make me a sandwich."
It only got worse from there. He smacked her around and claimed to their neighbours that she fell down the stairs. He forced himself on her, leaving her torn and bleeding and alone. He swore at her and cursed her for ever questioning him.
"Shut up and make me a sandwich."
She became reserved and quiet to the point that all of her friends were worried about her. One of her coworkers confronted her husband. A week later, she was forced to quit her job. Her life at home was torture.
"Shut up and make me a sandwich."
She wasn't sure what the final straw was.
"Shut up-"
Well, that wasn't true.
"-and make me-"
She knew exactly what it was.
"-a sandwich."
Anne, one night, stood beside the bedside and considered him. He was still handsome and had the face of a kind man. He had no bruises, no cuts, no scars. He looked like he'd been living a very good life.
Anne went into the kitchen. Her body ached. She hadn't been allowed to leave in weeks. Yet, he came home later and later, smelling of different perfumes every night. She hated it. She hated him.
"Shut up and make me a sandwich."
Anne had, before being forced to quit, been an English teacher. She had always jokingly told her students that some phrases could be read with a different, dark meaning. Once upon a time, she had even used 'make me a sandwich' as an example.
"Make for me" was correct, she'd told them all. "Make me" implied making them into a sandwich.
Anne picked up a knife. Her husband had always been a light sleeper.
"It's so nice that you're back to work, Anne," the principal commented.
"I'm very glad to be back," Anne said, smiling faintly. "I just hope that my husband comes home, soon."
"He left a few days ago, right?"
"He did. I really appreciate you giving me this job. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't. I'm just so pleased to be back, I brought sandwiches for us all!"
"Anne, you've always been the best," one of her friends, Greg, laughed and pulled her into a one-armed hug.
"I'm starved, Annie-Baby," Brandy stated. "Pull 'em out, Anne! You're the best chef in the world, I've missed you."
"You mean you missed her food," Greg teased.
Anne remained silent, opening her box of food. She watched as all of her coworkers and friends ate the roast "beef" sandwiches, telling her delightedly how good they were. She only smiled and sat back. Finally, she'd made her husband a sandwich, just as he'd asked.
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